Sistine Sistersby Roger McKillop

Genre:MemoirSwearwords: None.Description:The Pomsky Princess is reacquainted with one of her siblings.

​​There was I, lying, inoffensively, under a table of a Bury pub, when all Hell broke out! I, the most innocent of Pomskies (Aye, right! Zip it Stubby, my story; my words, ok?) was, savagely, attacked by a fury of blonde fluff-ball, which contained, disconcertingly, numerous teeth! I’ve heard of out of body experiences but this was like being mugged by a 3D selfie. While I fended off this assault, what penetrated my ears was, “I wanted to be the Queen of the house!”

Confused? So was I, my only thoughts was, to quote Grumps, “Whit the……….?” ( Shame on you Grumps, teaching such profanities to an impressionable young mind, such as mine! Aye, whitever!)

We’d driven down from Glasgow to Bury to go to a “Pomsky Play Date.” Mum had booked a, doggie friendly, room in a local pub. She’d been telling me information about this trip but due to my selective hearing deficiency, I hadn’t been listening to her! Not that I’m a very disobedient dog but phrases like “Candy come” are surely only the start of a negotiation? I am very attentive though, to words like “Treats”, “Sweeties” or my favourite piece of unnecessary language, “Candy would you like another wee bit of chicken?” (Aye, it’s “Weeties” an’ the poundin’ paws o’ a ballistic Pomsky, returnin’ tae plonk yer butt doon, tongue oot an’ paw raised! I take it for you “Subtle” is just a 6 letter word beginnin’ wi’ S? Of course this only works ‘till ye ken we’re headed back tae the car, then it’s “I can’t hear you Grumps.” Roughly translated from the Pomsky, that is “Not coming and you can stick your treats up your bum!” Right? Oh, that such slander, should be cast at me. I am deeply hurt and anyway, I wouldn’t have said “Bum!”) I remember that she’d said something about having sent a message to someone, who might come over to see us. To which I gave the obvious responses of yawn, stretch and roll over onto my back for a tummy tickle. Now, had I paid appropriate attention, I would have known that assailant was my sister Holly, bearing some unresolved grievances from our Katiebrooke Kennels days and the humans, trying to restrain her, were her Mum and Dad. Amid extreme parental embarrassment, we settled down to a guarded truce. Holly and I watched each other closely as a fragile peace followed until some muppet offered us treats. After a further spat we munched our treat and I was sick, I can safely say, this was not my finest hour! I suppose it’s fair to say that Holly and I fell into a real sisterly relationship, best pals one minute, at each other’s throats the next, and of course being Pomskies, the War catalyst is always food. The moral being, don’t get between either of us and our grub!

After Holly, my new Auntie Karen and Uncle Carl left, we went walkies and returned to the pub for dinner. Mum thought she could palm me off with some dry dog food while she had pub grub, no chance! It was a moochers’ paradise. My cute “please feed this puppy” look worked on everybody, with one exception, yip you guessed it, my Mum! She did though, introduce me to part of my Irish cultural heritage, to wit, a finger dipped in Guinness foam, which she called it “Dublin juice”, but I called it “Shlurrp!”

Holly was the first Pomsky, let alone, sibling (“Sibling?” It means, Brothers or Sisters. Is that not what I dictated, Grumps? I thought I’d make it more Elegant. Grumps! Oh, you wanna dae the typin’ then? Mmmmmmmm? Ha, that’s Fingers 1- Paws 0, so there, ya wee Pomsky prima-donna! Fair enough, I bow to your more dexterous evolution BUT when it comes to threats, who do you think wins the game of Pomsky Butt v Carpet, pray tell? Mutter Mutter Mutter Mutter…………) I’d seen since I left all my family, one by one, behind on the road from Munster to Scotland. Now next morning I was going to meet lots of Pomskies at the play date. We met up with Holly and drove to the meeting point. We walked along a farm path, rounded a corner and there were Pomskies of all shapes, colours and sizes. The first pup I meet was covered in mud as was a girl beside her, my heart leaped for joy, I was among kindred spirits, they were, as Grumps would put it, fellow burachs! We all walked down a track and entered a fairly large enclosure. Some of the puppies had just arrived in England the day before and this was their first experience of complete freedom. Mum and Auntie Karen let Holly and I off the lead. Well we were the eldest there so, with a quick look at Hols, we led off a great Pomsky charge. It was great to see some of the wee ones trying to keep up, cutting corners and having a ball. I swanned around getting pats and tickles then gave the pups a Master Class in gloming treats. There we were sitting round a young lad, eyes imploring more, treat based nutrition. I, as befitting my dignity, as eldest and Moocher-in-Chief, sat primly waiting my turn as an example to the fluff ball youngsters. (Oh aye? And what aboot the periodical spats wi’ Holly ower “My food!” “My Mum!” And of course “You can’t share my Grumps!” Simply a part of intra-familiar canine politics, laying a marker of dominance, which neither of us have, as yet, won! Aye, ok, so tae summarise, you believe in “Sharing” as long as it’s mono-directional. Mmmmmmm, could you chew that again please? You dinnae mind sharing other’s grub but no’ your ain! Yip, that’s the very one!) Holly and I settled down to a mutual truce and started to enjoy each other’s company. A couple of larger males arrived later and although dominant over all the others, kept noticeably away from the Blonde Sisters! As the group started to break up Auntie Karen took Holly away, I followed them to the gate, quite happy to go home with my Sis. Grumps had to come and rescue me but as far as I was concerned, I, once again, had a doggie family.

As we travelled north back to Glasgow, I mused on how Holly and I were rivals and sometimes, partners in crime, with my dopey side kick Sammy, right in the middle of most of the, no good, goings on in our peace-disturbing puppyhood. I pined for her and wondered if or when I’d ever see her again.

As it was, we have visited Holly and Auntie Karen several times, we have become friends as well as sisters. Grumps says we remind him of an old song, sung by some group of sisters. “Sisters, Sisters, There was never such devoted Sisters. God help the mister who comes between me and my sister and God help the sister who comes between me and my man!” Wellllll, in our case, Nosh! We go from best pals to balls of, fluffy, snapping teeth then back to buddies! The teeth bit has landed me a few times on The Naughty Step, much to the discomfort of Auntie Karen who always feels sorry for me. Holly and I would claim ownership of some dainty, I assert my rights, then before you know it, Mum had my butt on the step at Auntie Karen’s back door, with a leg jellyfing “STAY!” I immediately plonked my bottom down, disgusted at the injustice! By, well established, president, if it falls on the floor; ITS MINE! Not my fault the same arrangement applied to Holly! Head down, I sat there for a few minutes then, feeling my contrition time to be up, I walked up to the dining room door, like the prodigal pooch, all lolling tongue and wagging tail. I announced my return with a scratch on the door, expecting the “fatted calf” treatment. What met me though was an angry Mum, who instantly gave me the old red card and banished me, again, to my back step exile. So, droopy tailed, flattened ears, head bowed, I retraced my steps, ho-hum. I noticed that Mum had left the dinning room door open this time, at which appeared a sisterly smug smile. Right, new tactics this time, after a reasonable time, during which I imagined Holly enjoying at Treats monopoly, I set out on a, fool proof, return to Mum’s good books. I sat at the dinning room door showing my most pathetic “Poor-Put-Upon-Pomsly” look, instantly melting Auntie Karen’s heart. “Oh poor soul, you can’t put her back out now Nicola.” Yes, result! However we failed to take account of old permafrost Mum. “Can’t I? Watch me! You stay until I tell you to come in Madame!” Oh Jeasus, I’m in trouble now, she called me the “M” word! Collar grabbed, I put up token resistance as my paws slid along the kitchen floor, then plonk, deja-bloody-vous! Well by the time Mum asked me back in, I’d both learned my lesson and stored up revenge plots to get even with Sister Smugs!

Despite these spats, we get on well together, with morning play fights, synchronised fluffy bum waddling, forming a blonde tag-team wall if approached by other dogs and of course, our shared idiosyncrasy, pan-gender peeing! (Pan-gender? Nope, not me, I never use the pan Grumps. It means all gender peeing…………………………..and becau………… Oops,……..still talking?..........Finished? Good, back to the story. Ya cheeky wee sh………..) As you may have gathered both of us squat and raise a leg at the same time! Holly told me that was how she got her full name, Miss Holly, to try to remind her she was indeed female. On the subject of all things toilet, Holly was dumb struck when I squatted and proceeded to do my usual perambulating poo. Not for me, the construction of poo pyramids, rather a bowel evacuation trail. Grumps was telling me that some Americans did a study about canine excretory orientations (??? Which direction you face while p…….. Ok, got the picture! Do you mean to say some Yank’s got a Phd for following doggies with a shovel and a compass? Aye! Jist, imagine, U.S. University Challenge, “Yale, Smith, reading Directional Doggie Doings.”) well, all I can say is, don’t try to navigate with mine, no North finder, just a squelchy question mark!

(Eh? Hold that result! What’s this about changing the title from the original “Sisters” without my consent, pray tell? Weeeel it’s cause o’ thon photie yer Maw took……….la-la-Lala-la……….Whatever!) Mum and HMK, Holly’s Mum Karen, would take us long walks where we could go off exploring together. There were streams to paddle in and mud to roll in, we had great times running and chasing each other. Then we’d lie out in the back garden or look at the fish in the pond, as if studying a menu. One day I saw Hols scratching at the grass, so I went over to join her. Very soon there was dirt and grass flying from two not so clean fluffy bums. The grass was green but put it this way, when HMK saw it, I think she might be not be a Celtic supporter! Next time I went down for a visit the crater was covered with a wooden trellis, ah-ha, a challenge?

Talking about challenges, my revenge came when Mum took Hols and I out for a run. I was used to this at home, running with Mum’s ok, mountain biking’s a wee bit more tiring, galloping after her and Grumps as they hurtle down hill but I get plenty of rest escorting a certain cyclist back up! (Ok, Paws 1, Wheels 1, and we’ll call it quits? Okydoky, my puffed out, peddling, pal, and when we go walkies, you often change one of the vowels! Aye, you’ve spoiled many’s the tree-contemplatin’ idyll by the sudden appearance of a blonde head, mid-stream, necessitating emergency re-aimin’!) Off we went together but Sis kept wandering off sniffing this, answering that p-mail, saying hello to every dog going! I had to keep doubling back to fetch her as Mum just kept running. Hols and I collapsed back at the house, she never having done this before and me having run about three times the distance rounding Sis up! ( Sis? Ah, now I get it, Holly and I are sisters, we’re both two and a half and doggie years being 7x human year’s, we’re 17 and teenagers, therefore Sistine! Ta dah round of applause for that doggie? Nope, no cigar, even if ye dae look like Winston Churchill when Andy Neph gies ye a dental chew tae tak’ oot tae the gairden!) Holly enjoyed the experience but was much less boisterous at next morning’s “let’s make as much noise as possible to get the lazy humans up” session. The following morning, she made an extra effort to disturb everyone’s beauty sleep. Mum got up, really early and dressed. I was all tail wagging and enthusiasm, Mum had her running gear on! I shouted to Holly, “ C’mon Hols look at my Mum.” She bounded out of the bedroom, twirling her tail and tongue out in anticipation, saw Mum, dropped both tail and jaw, pivoted on the spot and headed back to bed, muttering words HMK wouldn’t have believed her darling doggie knew! Mum dragged her out and off we went, guess who had the smug smile this time? We ran after a Mum, chased each other and had a ball, enjoying being together. When we got back home it was me who flaked out. Holly settled down near me and from time to time would creep closer to me, giving me a “Wanna play?” nudge. Eventually, getting no encouragement from me, she fell asleep with our paws just touching. Auntie Karen took a photo of us……..oh? (That’s why the title change, it’s from the ceiling of the Sistine chapel in Rome……………..Mmmmmmm, or, as you would say, “Oh Aye?” You do remember I’m just a small Irish doggie? My only experience of Italy was when that Pizza was thrown out of the multi-story flats near Grannies! For which, the only words I have for are “Yum and Scoff!”

Holly and I look very much alike and share so many things, when we have to, that is! Mum brought chewable bottles for us to play with, she gave us one which we shared, after a fashion. That is to say that one of us would chew it with relish while the other sat and drooled waiting for the slightest lapse in concentration then pinch it. It’s hard to chew with a smug look on your gob but we managed it perfectly. Mum decided it would be better to give us a bottle each to prevent any more inter-sister friction. Welllllll, the plan kind-a-got-nobbled by me hiding Holly’s bottle under my oxter while innocently chewing my one! (“Oxter?” Well I’ve not been around you and Granny without picking up some Haggis talk! Hmmpf, gobby wee Irish git!) I’ve heard it said, “Like Master, like dog!” Well, we could have an interesting discussion on the “Master” bit but it is true that both Holly and HMK sport sleek, not a hair out of place, appearances whereas Mum and I often look like we’ve been pulled through a hedge backwards! (Ain’t that the truth! Yip, put it this way, there’s no way HMK would go to Christmas dinner wearing a Minion’s onesy or post gap toothed photos of herself on Facebook after forgetting to put her false teeth in!) Now, don’t get me wrong, Holly’s no pampered lapdog, she’s always up for a game I’ve just helped her to get in touch with her inner burach! Like me, if there’s puddles, mud or multi-species excreta, around, then we are both rolling in it like a shot! This got us both into trouble when we took a mud bath in a really disgusting bog. It looked as if we were wearing four matching pairs of black tights. We were walked to a small river were we were able to wash most of the “glaur” off, revealing eight skinny sparrow legs but it didn’t wash out the worms! Mum and I traveled back to Scotland and next day we went through to see Auntie Tess at Dalkeith with her Pomskies Oscar and Piper. (If Tess ever gets another Pomsky, guess what it’s name will be? Excuse me, Grumps old chap but did I ask for this intervention? You’re ruining my creative flow. You just press the key pad like a good boy. I thought this was a collaboration! It is, I tell you what to type and you do it. Simples! Aye, you an’ bloody Alexander would get on ok, yer baith bossy buggers. I should get taegithir wi’ Serge an’ we could.......GRUMPS! TYPE!) We ran about a lot but I wasn’t feeling too good. When I went to stay with Granny for a few days I became very ill, I don’t remember much of the following days. I do remember being told that Holly was also ill but recovering I was glad to hear this but I just had no energy….(Grumps? Why are you blubbering? It was a terrible time, we were sure we were going to lose you. Your Mum and I were told not to come over to see you in case we upset you and we were near frantic with fear for you. Oh, I didn’t know that but I had no intention in popping my paws! What? No more Cathkin Braes? No more morning tickles? No more Andy Neph’s soup? No more games with Sis? NO CHANCE! Ok you can stop hugging me and get back to the typing! Soppy old sod.) During our latest trip to Bury, Hols and I were out walking with Mum and HMK when went off for exploring. After we’d been A.W.O.L. for some time, Mum blew her whistle and instantly Holly shot off back to her, I had other thoughts, I was doing an Elmer Fudd and hunting “Waskly Wabbits!” Whistle, Wabbits! Whistle, Wabbits! WHISTLE, Wabbits? When Mum, eventually, found me, I had my head down a Wabbit hole, with only, an undignified butt and tail protruding skyward! “Candy ya stubborn bugger! Did ye no’ hear my whistle or were you just ignorin’ me, as usual?” I would have protested vigorously at this insult but I had to admit she was right with the first three letters of the adjective! She finally caught on and uncorked me from the burrow. All I can say is, to whoever thought up the “master and dog” tag, if they knew my Mum……Q.E. bloody D!

Grumps & Candy.For Karen, Carl and my sis Miss Holly.

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About the Author

Edinburgh-born Roger McKillop is a retired Sports Studies lecturer. He has been writing poetry in Scots for many years and has had his work published in The Scots Magazine. His pen name is Roger Ceann Maol Beag, which means Wee Roger with the Bald Head!